


Human Augumentation (Subject to change)

by Nicky2209



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:12:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicky2209/pseuds/Nicky2209
Summary: A story I've been working on for about a year, it's not great but I just want to get it out there, I hope you enjoy. Let me know if there is anything you would like to see and i'll give it some consideration :)
(Skulduggery Pleasant is the closest fandom i could think of when deciding, sorry if this annoys anyone!)





	1. Chapter 1

About 3 years ago, the company Astrix developed and released a product named “Improvements” in which metal chips are inserted into the nape of their neck to gain the ability of said Improvement. Improvements are casings of carbon fiber and metal, that cover the user’s arms or legs, and in some cases, both. These were nicknamed “Proves” for short by the general populous. Most were increased strength, giving people the ability to lift past their strength, how much depended on how much they were willing to spend on them. With the other options being increased hearing, and eyesight, the deal was the same and most people were content with this.

But then some 6 months later Astrix, whose product flew off shelves and had continued to until the release of its next product, called “Improvements Elite” which was designed to give its users the ability to manipulate the elements. This was released to the rich and spoilt, then to the public a year later. It was another six months before any stories of modifications to the Improvements had begun to spread.

With the first being of a boy genius at the age of 17 who had managed to modify the Improvement to allow him free control of his center of gravity, allowing him to walk up and down walls and ceilings. Soon after that a rumor begun to circulate of a 19 year old Russian student who had allegedly “thrown shadows” and critically injuring one of her friends who had worked on the project with her.

It is unknown if it was intentional, but the partner did die of serious wounds to the chest and extreme loss of blood. These are only two of the thousands of cases reported. It used to take a genius to modify the Improvements, but now everyone knows how to, leaving one question, is it worth the cost? When people decide to mod, it is an extremely painful process. Not the modding precisely, but the security feature installed into the software of the Improvements, start to "melt" the Improvement and inject it into and around the bones of the Modifier, over a course of time that varies from 12-48 hours, the Improvements bond to the bones of the user.

The time required for recovery is usually 2-3 weeks after, as the skin and bones are deeply bruised and damaged. By the end of this the Modifiers have a light shell of metal and carbon fiber around their bones. This has a 25% chance of this proving fatal.

Those who have decided to modify their Improvements have been labelled the enemy by the media, gathering those who are too old to understand or ignorant to research the topic as their support to alienate anyone who decides to modify. Terms the media has come up for the Modifiers are names such as; Mods, Freaks, Muties Mutes and mutants. Most of the Modifiers call each other Mods, the least insulting of the names given to them.

There are three main warring groups;

The Simples: Those without Improvements.

The Switchers: Those without modified Improvements and thus can swap between Improvements, these are often military personnel, but after a break in to Astrix, can now be bought on the black market.

The Modders/Mods: Those who have modded their Improvements or have paid someone to do it for them. The downside of modding is that once the modding begins, the security feature activates, binding the Improvements to the bone.


	2. Prison

The 17 year old with short, messy black hair was taken from the dead of night and thrown into the back of a poorly painted black van on which the paint had begun to peel off. A guard slapped cuffs on him and pushed him through the open side door and he felt his powers being rendered useless; chalking it up to the cuffs, he made a mental note to find out more about them later on. As his eyes had just begun to adjust to the poor light provided from the streetlights, the door was slid closed and he was left in relative darkness.

The boy looked around as he took a seat next to red haired girl, whose pale skin made even him look tan. He looked at her, expecting some reaction but she was as still as a rock, he couldn’t make out any other people in the van with him, as the windows had also been poorly coated with black paint making seeing inside the van hard, but not impossible. He wondered how many guards there were in there with him.

This had come as no surprise to the boy; he expected  it to happen sooner actually, he knew it was coming when he paid to be modded permanently as a Blinker, he knew it was coming when the very same van he was thrown into, was following from home to school and back again. So to say it came as a surprise when three armed men in masks broke down his door and destroyed anything he cared for, before shoving him into the van, would be untrue.

After 15 minutes of driving and another seemingly spent on a ferry, the van finally stopped. After everyone had been roughly pushed out, in the faint light of the moon the boy noted that there had been no guards, excluding the two in the front seats, and five Modders, including The pretty redhead.

They were uncuffed and marched in silence towards a ramshackle looking structure that appeared as if it had yet to decide if it were made out of concrete or metal, an uncomfortable sight to see, thought the boy.

When the guards had reached him after it was confirmed nobody had slipped away, he was given a fresh pair of vomit smelling prison clothes, an ugly cross between green and blue overalls with a white undershirt, optional blood stained jacket included. He was also given a slip of paper which read;

 

**Simon Crowe, Block B, Cell 11**

 

As Simon found his way to the cell using a combination of signs and guessing his thoughts began to wander, he began to think about what was preventing from anyone using their proves and escaping, he could still feel the slight, ever-present, buzz of energy provided from his Improvement, which confused him more than ever.

After finally making it to his cell, which appeared to be devoid of human life, meaning no cellmate, which was a relief, Simon took in his surroundings. The cell contained the bare minimum and was the colour of vomit that had been left out for far too long. In the corner was a sink, and in the adjacent corner was a toilet that appeared to have been there for some time. What was left to look at was a pitiful attempt at a bed and can only be described as wood with pillow cases which appeared to be filled with straw and a sad excuse for sheets that wouldn’t even cut it as curtains. Simon was not looking forward to his time here.

 

A guard was making his way down the cells, explaining what each person’s duty was. When the guard finally reached Simon he spoke with the air of someone who had been doing this job for far too long. The guard made Simon look like a small apple tree growing next to a great oak, Simon wasn’t small, but this man was large and made Simon feel like he _was_ small.

His voice was rough and his tone was bored but threatening. The man sounded like he had done this hundreds of times, and like he was prepared to do it hundreds more.

‘The name is Jefferson,’ the guard said, ‘I am your superior and you will treat me accordingly. You will call me “sir” and speak to me only when spoken to. Understood?”

Simon nodded, he didn’t like this man already, and was going to treat him with as little respect as he could get away with.

The man cracked his fingers, ‘Now, as you may be wondering whats stopping you from blinking out of here and strolling away a free man. I will tell you. There’s nothing stopping you from blinking _inside_ of these walls, but if you try to blink out, your very atoms will be fried with an immeasurable amount of electricity.’

The latter wasn’t surprising to Simon, but the former was, and something he planned on using to its full advantage.

‘Now,’ Jefferson said, pulling out a small notepad which had all the names and jobs of the prisoners, ‘your job is...laundry’


End file.
